


Oh, honey

by elliebird



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) RPF
Genre: Come Swallowing, First Time, M/M, Making Out, Oral Sex, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24289198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliebird/pseuds/elliebird
Summary: I posted 500 words of this to Tumblr a little while back, decided to finish it and it turned into this.
Relationships: Tyler Blackburn/Michael Vlamis
Comments: 12
Kudos: 89





	Oh, honey

**Author's Note:**

> I was stuck for way too long on a title so I stole one from Harry Styles.
> 
> Also, I have an inkling that Tyler might be a little bit filthy. There's something going on behind that calm facade.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” Tyler laughs. He palms Michael’s flushed face and pushes him away. He’s sweaty, from hours of dancing and the crush of bodies around them, the place packed to the rafters after being forced to stay home for so many months. Tyler wipes his hand on Michael’s shirtsleeve.

It’s a bald faced lie, of course. It’s just not the time or place to discuss how and when and the other particulars Michael’s interested in. It’s also not the first time in the hour and a half they’ve been out that Michael’s brought it up, swaying close to be heard over the pulsing bass to say “do you want to get out of here and go have sex?” 

It might have been funny, the complete lack of romance in it, if not for the way Michael’s voice slid down Tyler’s spine to settle hot and deep in his belly. Tyler has done his best but Michael wins everyone over eventually, if they’re not completely enamored of him from the word go. 

He’s been ready to call it a night for the last half hour, watching Michael get progressively more comfortable touching him, draping an arm around his shoulders, leaning just close enough to feel the occasional brush of lips on his skin.

Michael’s lost a few more buttons, his thrift store shirt open to just above his belly button, the pretty pink color on his cheeks spreading down his throat to settle between his nipples. Tyler spent most of his life indifferent to body hair. Except, as it turns out, when it comes to Michael, who wears his chest hair the same way he wears his thrift store Hawaiian print shirts and wild wool socks. Shamelessly unapologetic.

“Drink some water,” Tyler tells him, stepping away from the press of Michael’s hot, tempting body. He pushes his own bottle into Michael’s hand and makes a _go on_ gesture.

Michael is a menace when he’s sober. Too much charm and good looks for his own good, shamelessly flirtatious with anyone who shows him a little attention. Hours into a night out, crappy beer and a couple of shots in his system and he’s all hands and suggestive looks, doing his clumsy best to convince Tyler to get out of here in favor of sex. 

“Why not?” Michael downs the bottle and drops it on the table they claimed an hour and a half ago. 

Tyler ignores him in favor of grabbing Michael’s wrist to look at the display on his watch. “We’re leaving in ten,” he says. 

He and Michael have been friends for two and a half years. Tyler spent the first year managing to avoid getting roped into Michael’s idea of a good time. Somehow, over the last few months, he’s stopped saying no when Michael asks him to go out. 

“Dancing’s more fun with you,” Michael insisted once when Tyler asked why he didn’t drag Kyle or his other roommates out with him. 

“Hey,” Michael insists, catching Tyler’s hand. “I’m serious.” 

“You’re drunk,” Tyler retorts. Michael’s eyes are bright, his face pink. Tyler is not immune to Michael Vlamis, not anymore, and if they were somewhere less public, he’d take advantage of Michael’s enthusiasm, his pink mouth and eager hands.

Michael kissed him for the first time weeks ago after an afternoon in Tyler’s pool, wet curls in his eyes and water dripping down his chest. It’s happened a few times since, a kiss that leads to Michael’s hands on his hips, Tyler’s pulse racing. It always stops there. 

Michael has managed to crowd Tyler against the high top table. “I’m not that drunk,” Michael insists. He smells like Michelob and sunscreen.

“Why are we having this conversation here?” Tyler settles his weight on the balls of his feet.

There’s no chance of cameras here, minus the hundreds of cell phones should anyone recognize either of them. This is not that kind of crowd, though, and the chances are slim. Michael’s reckless but he’s not irresponsible and despite the look in his eyes, the hungry way he drops his gaze to Tyler’s mouth, Tyler knows he’s not going to push it.

“We can take it back to your place,” Michael says, “if you’d prefer.” 

Tyler walked right into that one. 

In the weeks since he and Michael started kissing for fun, he’s learned that Michael has a weakness for him. He might have had an inkling before, when Michael would take to Instagram to extol Tyler’s virtues to the Vlambase. It’s different when it’s just the two of them, when Michael leans in to whisper, hoarse and breathless, “fuck, you’re sexy” and can’t keep from tracing his fingertips over the planes of his stomach. 

Spending years on a teen soap has immunized him to the thirst that fills his Instagram. He’s an exhibitionist down to his bones and posts of him naked and artistically hidden in shadows are for the thrill he gets from showing himself off. He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t _love_ watching Michael’s eyes get hot and hungry, the sexy hitch in his throat when Tyler licks his bottom lip or turns the flirting up to nine.

“Come home with me,” Tyler agrees, discreetly slipping his hand beneath the hem of Michael’s shirt. His skin is warm when he settles his palm at the dip of his spine. He leans in, holding Michael’s gaze. “You can ask me again,” Tyler says with his lips against Michael’s ear, “when you’re sober.” 

They leave shortly after that, a charge in the air between them. They’re going to cross a line.

Tyler prefers going out in Los Feliz, close to home and away from the Hollywood scene. Michael fiddles with the settings on his stereo as he navigates the three miles home. 

Tyler has been comfortable with Michael since the day he walked into the conference room for their first table read. Michael is exactly who he claims to be. He’s confident, occasionally cocky, funny and brilliant. He spends his time with the kind of dudes Tyler’s spent his life steering clear of and they’re the chillest, nicest guys who seem to think Tyler is their new best friend by association. 

Michael settles on a station playing a Police song and leans back into the seat. When he looks at Tyler, he reaches out and touches his hand where it’s resting on the steering wheel. “Thanks for coming out tonight.” 

Tyler takes a second to reply, touched by the sudden shift in Michael, like he recognizes that whatever happens next isn’t a small thing. “I had fun,” Tyler says. And then he flashes Michael a smile. “I always have fun with you.” 

The way Michael’s eyes go soft will never get old. 

Tyler pulls into the driveway beside Michael’s car. Michael follows him up the stairs, staying close as Tyler gets the door unlocked. He doesn’t touch him but Tyler feels him all the same. 

He lets them into the house and Dylan rushes forward, the sound of her paws on the wood floors a clatter of excitement. She pivots on her beeline for Tyler when she sees Michael, who gets down to her level and lets her shower him in affection. 

“Traitor,” Tyler laughs. He drops his keys on the table along the wall, takes his shoes off and heads for the kitchen. 

He can hear Michael talking to Dylan as he pours filtered water for both of them. 

Michael’s at home in his place, though he only spent the night once. That was back during the months long break between filming seasons one and two, when they were friends and nothing else. He’d slept in the guest room then, when Chandler still lived with him.

It’s different now. 

“You know,” Michael says, coming into the kitchen, “I’ve had more water than booze at this point.” He takes the glass Tyler pointedly places in front of him and makes a show of downing half of it. He sets the glass down with an expression that plainly says, _happy now?_

Tyler huffs. “And yet,” he says, letting Michael pull him close. “You’re still drunk.”

He loves the way Michael feels against him, warm and a little sweaty, the way he smells. He’s loose limbed and flirty - even more so than usual - and Tyler just wants to wrap himself up in him. 

“Not drunk,” Michael disagrees. He catches Tyler by the waist. “Just…not sober.” 

Tyler doesn’t give in. Yet. He _does_ \- because he can’t help himself - reach up to push Michael’s curls out of his eyes. Michael is easy. He’s a simple guy with simple pleasures. Tyler knows how weak he goes for hands in his hair, fingers, any attention at all. He doesn’t miss the slight shiver that runs through Michael. He settles his hand at the nape of his neck where Michael’s hair is soft and sweat-damp.

He loves the intimacy of the moment, the two of them in his favorite part of the house, the quiet around them. It’s just shy of midnight. “Not sure there’s a difference,” he counters. 

He’d like to sleep with Michael. He’s thought about it, of course he has. It’s a terrifying leap from making out with a coworker who very quickly became one of his best friends to sleeping together. 

He loves this. Their friendship caught him by surprise from the very beginning. Tyler was wary of a loud, Chicago-bred dude bro after years of learning to mute himself for the world around him. Michael’s unapologetic chaotic energy is hard to resist getting caught up in, like a cyclone. 

“Maybe not,” Michael concedes. He lets his voice drop low. “So, okay,” he says, slipping his hands underneath Tyler’s t-shirt to trace the vulnerable skin at his waist. “No sex. But,” he brushes his lips over Tyler’s jaw, “we could make out.” 

Tyler’s half hard, from Michael’s body against his own, the way he has of looking at Tyler with those pretty green eyes, dark with want. Tyler quickly put Michael in a box with big red letters that said **off limits**. He was with Chandler and Michael was - by all appearances - straight. It was easy to keep that line between them. 

It’s gone now. 

He leans his weight against the kitchen island, a wordless invitation for Michael to come closer, fitting a thigh between his own. Michael is solid against him from his thighs to his hips. He braces his palms on either side of Tyler. 

His pulse races. He’s breathing shallowly. The beat of silence between them is heavy. 

Tyler breaks first. His want feels simple and overwhelming at once. He settles an arm around Michael’s neck and urges him closer, a split second of hesitation before they’re falling into one another. 

He loves the hungry way Michael kisses him, the way he opens his mouth at the first touch of Tyler’s lips against his own.

It escalates from there.

“Hey,” Tyler laughs, breathless and overwhelmed. “Wait.”

Michael stops kissing him immediately. “Are you okay?” He asks with such solemnity that Tyler falls a little more for this wild, midwest boy who always takes him by surprise. 

“It’s.” Tyler stops. This is not the right time for serious conversations or confessions, but if he and Michael are going to sleep together, there’s one thing Tyler needs Michael to know. 

It’s tough to think with Michael so close. He takes a step back so they’re no longer touching, so he can catch his breath, get his bearings and make sure he and Michael understand one another. It’s something he should have said after that first afternoon.

“If this is just an experiment for you, which,” he says, holding up a hand, “I fully support.” He lets out a breath and continues, “I need you to find someone else.” 

It’s not an easy thing to say. He’s learned to be more vulnerable in the first years of his thirties and he still fights the urge to retreat into himself afterwards. 

“That ship has sailed,” Michael tells him, quiet and almost rueful.

There are things they haven’t talked about. The the end of their respective relationships, the whys, how they ended up here. 

Tyler gives Michael’s confession a moment to settle between them. He’s quickly running out of reasons why he and Michael shouldn’t give into the emotion between them. 

He dislodges himself from Michael’s tangled limbs and grabs his hand. 

Michael follows him wordlessly. 

Tyler leads them into his bedroom, shutting the door, and bypassing the bed to pull Michael into the bathroom. They’re both sweaty from a night out and as much as Tyler wants to get laid right now, the idea of making out with Michael in his sexy, oversized shower is too good to pass up. 

He spent years of savings making his house exactly how he wanted. His lush master bath is no exception. It’s full of light, pale walls and crisp white tiles, a sunken tub and a glass shower. 

There aren’t many times when Michael is incapable of speech. This is one of those times. He looks like he’s trying to find something sarcastic to say but Tyler is down to his jeans now and Michael has some catching up to do. 

Tyler takes pride in his body. He likes to show it off, whether with an artfully shadowed photo to his social media followers or in private, naked and turned on. 

The hum of the shower fills the heated silence. Tyler steps underneath the spray, watching Michael undress as steam fills the space. He and Michael have been comfortable with each other since the first day of rehearsals for the pilot, deciding they had nothing to lose by giving their roles and the relationship everything they had. They’ve put themselves in vulnerable positions since then, building a trust that Tyler doesn’t take for granted. 

It’s easy between them. The transition from colleagues to friends, to best friends and now this - whatever they are to each other - has been mostly seamless. 

He’ll never tire of the way Michael looks at him. His eyes are dark and hungry as he drinks Tyler in, stalled in undressing to watch Tyler through the open shower door. 

Tyler has worked hard for the confidence that allows him to stand naked, half hard and getting harder, letting Michael look. He’s put the hours in for the definition in his thighs, the swell of his ass, the planes of his stomach.

Michael reaches for him, pulling Tyler’s slick body against his own. He makes an embarrassingly hungry sound at the way Michael feels against him, all strength and lean muscle. Michael’s arms wrap around him and Tyler leans into it, lets his back bow to get the most friction and pleasure out of Michael’s body against his own. 

He keeps his body mostly trimmed of hair because he likes the way it feels, the way it looks on him. Michael, on the other hand, wears his chest hair like a badge of honor. From the beginning, Tyler’s had filthy fantasies of coming on him, dirtying him up a little. It’s even hotter like this, both of them slick and wet. 

Tyler miscalculated. He had a fun, sexy shower in mind, maybe some playful making out, but there’s nothing lighthearted about Michael’s skin against his, both of them rock hard and clinging to each other. 

“This is fucking hot,” Michael breathes with water in his face. He kisses the corner of Tyler’s mouth, sweet and tender and so fucking Michael. Tyler turns into it, urging him into a deeper kiss, water on their lips and tongues. 

After several increasingly breathless minutes of roaming hands and hungry mouths, Tyler reaches for the bottle of soap that smells like eucalyptus and sandalwood, eager for the sent of himself on Michael’s skin. 

He laughs into Michael’s mouth, trying to put some space between them before this ends before Tyler wants it to. He slaps at Michael’s wandering hands. 

“Behave,” he says, stepping from underneath the shower spray to lean against the tiled wall. 

Michael’s eyes have gone hazy. His cheeks are ruddy with pleasure. He takes the soap when Tyler pushes it at him, perfunctorily dumping some into his palms. The longer Michael stares unflinchingly at him, hands on his own skin, the harder Tyler gets. He plays into it, pressing his shoulders back into the wall so his hips jut forward, his erection on proud display. 

When they’ve rinsed the soap from their skin, Tyler turns the water off and playfully pushes Michael out of the shower. He reaches for Tyler immediately, tugging him close with enough momentum that Tyler’s breath leaves him in a huff. 

Michael’s eyes are hot and heady. “You’re beautiful,” he mumbles on a whisper. The kiss he gives Tyler is still charged with the energy of all the months of increasing tension but it’s sweet all the same, careful and tender. 

In the bedroom, Tyler takes the lead before either of them can question where this is headed. He eases Michael to his back in the middle of his bed, thighs splayed and his head in a mountain of pillows. 

He could ease them into this. He could settle with Michael, cover him with his weight, tangled limbs and seeking hands. They could make out a little more, rub off against one another until they come. But Tyler endured two hours of foreplay disguised as dancing and two and a half years convincing himself his feelings for Michael were platonic. He’s fucking earned this. 

He gets on his knees between Michael’s thighs, blatant in his intent. He knows what he looks like. He’s proud of the picture he makes, of his toned body and his sun-soaked skin still damp. There’s nothing coy or teasing about it - he wants Michael’s dick in his mouth. He keeps his gaze on Michael, watching understanding dawn. It might be comical if Tyler weren’t so singularly focused. 

“Toss me a pillow?” He keeps his attention on Michael’s gorgeous dick, the hard length of it against his stomach, the bead of pre-come leaking from the tip, the sounds of Michael’s shallow breathing as he tries to steady himself. 

Michael throws one in his direction and Tyler pushes it under his hips as he sprawls out on his front with his head between Michael’s thighs. He presses a kiss to the vulnerable skin on Michael’s thigh and settles himself with the right kind of friction on his cock.

Michael makes a low sound of surprise the second Tyler wraps his hand around his dick. It’s gratifying and sexy, heightened by the way the muscles in his thighs flex as he tries to keep his hips from fucking up into Tyler’s hand. 

Michael’s cock is a nice size, not all that long but thick enough to fill up Tyler’s mouth, make his jaw ache and his lips sore. He flashes Michael a _look_ and parts his lips, taking the dripping tip into the wet heat of his mouth. Pleasure moves through him, down his spine to the pit of his belly and lower, at the first taste of Michael on his tongue. He doesn’t bother biting back the moan builds in the back of his throat. He _loves_ giving head. He loves being watched, knowing he looks good with his mouth full, the sloppy, hungry way he can’t get enough. 

Getting his mouth on Michael _finally_ has him hard enough that given the right friction, he could come just like this with his hips against the pillow and his cock trapped between skin and cotton. Fuck, it’d feel good, humping the bed with Michael’s come filling his mouth. 

Michael’s rock hard. Tyler loves the shape of him between his lips, the weight of him on his tongue. He gets harder with within the heat and suction of Tyler’s lips around him. It takes Tyler a minute of Michael’s dick in his mouth to realize something missing. Michael is motionless. Tyler frowns and pulls off, keeping his hand on Michael, working him over. Michael’s looking down at him like he’s in pain. He’s white knuckled, hands curled in the sheets and Tyler looks him over, from the flush on his chest down to where his belly is concave. 

Realization hits Tyler square in the chest. Pride and fondness have him smiling, ducking his face to kiss Michael right above his hip. 

“Don’t hold back,” he says quietly, resting his cheek on Michael to smile up at him. He uses the slick on Michael, his own spit and Michael’s pre-come - to ease the glide of his fist as he strokes him. Tyler wants to make him lose control. 

Michael rolls his eyes but it’s clear it’s directed at himself. “I’m thirty seconds from blowing my load,” he says between clenched teeth. Tyler’s smile widens and pleasure floods through him. 

“Okay.” Tyler raises his head, hovers with his breath on Michael’s dick. “Do it in my mouth” he replies. He reaches for one of Michael’s hands. “Touch me,” he says. And then, with a wild grin, “make me take it.” 

It gets the reaction he wants. Michael’s eyes widen in a split second of surprise before they’re narrowed in focus as he pushes his hands into the fringe falling in Tyler’s eyes, tangles his fingers and tugs. “I knew you had a fucking filthy side,” he says. The words are quiet. There’s pure pleasure and pride in Michael’s eyes on him. 

It’s like a switch being flipped. Tyler takes Michael back into his mouth and gets what he wants. Michael doesn’t use force in the hand at the crown of Tyler’s head but he rocks his hips slightly, testing Tyler’s enthusiasm, his ability to handle a little face fucking. Tyler encourages him with the sounds that bubble up, the saliva flooding his mouth, the way he shifts to try and get closer, better leverage for Michael to fuck his mouth. 

It gets increasingly filthy. He’s a mess and just about as turned on as he’s ever been, unable to focus on anything but the feel of Michael in his mouth. He’s sloppy and breathless and not ready for it to be over. Michael lasts for a minute or two and Tyler gets a second of warning - a breathless, “oh shit,” before Michael comes. The first shot hits the back of his throat. He pulls off, using his hand to milk the rest from Michael, lips wet and open, eyes on Michael. Come catches him on the chin and the corner of his mouth before landing on Michael’s taut, clenching stomach. 

It’s so hot Tyler scrambles up to straddle Michael’s hips, so turned on from his own fucking oral fixation, the taste of Michael filling his mouth. All it’ll take is a little attention and he’s going to come all over himself. 

Tyler’s barely settled himself, kneeling over Michael when Michael curses a blue streak and hauls Tyler close with a grip on the back of his neck. He kisses Tyler with an open mouth. Tyler’s not expecting Michael to be quite this eager to taste his come on Tyler’s lips, the way he pushes his hand into his hair to hold him still so he can lick at the hot, wet inside of his mouth. 

Michael catches him by surprise, pushing his hand away to wrap his own around Tyler’s leaking cock. Tyler loses coordination, all ability to focus on Michael’s kiss. Michael jerks him off like he knows how to make it good which is something Tyler will need to ask him about later. 

Tyler comes, breathing into Michael’s mouth. His shoulders shake, thighs trembling. Michael doesn’t let up. 

A minute later - or maybe it’s an hour, Tyler might have blacked out - he stirs to climb out of bed in search of water and something to clean them up with. Michael catches him with an arm around his waist, and rolling Tyler to his back so smoothly Tyler can’t even give him shit about it. 

“My turn,” Michael says with a wild grin, and slides down the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I'm on [Tumblr](https://elliebirdthings.tumblr.com/).


End file.
